What He Meant To Me

Today at 10:13 AM

Jason says that I have to purge. He says I have to write it all down and get it out of me. He said that I've written my blog about the loss of my brother but now I have to write what Ryan meant to me. Jason says I've been tough to deal with lately and for that, I'm sorry. I get lost inside myself and my fuse, which was short already, has been cut in half. I'll be the first to admit that I'm irrational and I pity anyone who's had to deal with me, namely Jason. In trying to talk me down out of the rafters, he said something that really hit home. He said, "Misty, he was my brother, too. I lost him, too." In that moment, I felt like an asshole. He was absolutely right and I'm sorry. Watching my son lose his cool when we walked into the funeral home, made me realize I had hogged the agony for myself. Jason said he's been surprised that I haven't written much. I've had no strength. It's all I can do to get through my daily routine, let alone be funny or witty. He said, "Write or you have to go to counseling". So here's a lighter one… What Ryan meant to me, what he taught me, and the funny stories that have no purpose -- they're just damn funny.

Ryan and I have always been close. I was enamored of Ryan from birth. He was my big brother and I thought he hung the moon. Mom said he would carry me around and never hold my head so it would just be flopping around. He never did learn how to hold a baby's head. He held my kids like aliens, each and everyone of them. I digress… I followed him everywhere he went. I know he got sick of me, 'cause well, he told me he did. I slept with him until he all put physically picked me up and put into my pink frilly bed down that hall. I don't think I ever forgave him for booting me out. We would lay in bed at night to the sound of our big box fan and tell each other stories to make each other laugh. I laughed so hard once I puked all over Ryan's helium Snoopy balloon he'd gotten for his birthday. We got in big trouble that night. We would play the game where you draw a picture on each other's back and try to guess what was being drawn or written. I'd wear him down and he'd let me go back in and sleep with him every now and then. I'd wait till it was late and his resistance was down because we'd stayed up watching "Twin Peaks" or "Unsolved Mysteries" to ask. I think sometimes he was secretly creeped out, too.

I don't think it's any big secret we were poor and mom had to work tons of jobs just to keep us afloat. Ryan took care of me; he fed me, he made sure I did my chores, he cleaned up my puke, monitored my outfits, taught me right from wrong, and shielded me from mean boys. You can't begin to count the number of glasses of sweet tea and chimichanga heat-'em-up meals he put in front of me. I once had a friend remark after being around Ryan and I together, for the first time, that they'd never seen anyone be able to make me "mind" except Ryan. Ryan was like a father figure to me and yes, he could put me in check like no one else on this earth. His opinion mattered and disappointing him crushed me. Don't get me wrong, we were kids at one time and tore the house down while mom was away. We broke things, we raised hell, and had a blast. Here's a list of funny stories that are prime examples of Ryan and I as kids.

Let's start with the favorite: The hair in the vacuum cleaner story…

Ryan was the golden child. He was more responsible and least likely to garner mom a bad phone call from the school. Me? Not so much. I was rambunctious, loud, wild, lawless, and least likely to have completed our many chores before mom got home. Ryan called me the "O.G. Bad Girl". Mom drove a little blue escort and the bottom of her car would drag the top of the deeply-dipped driveway on her way into the carport. When you heard that sound, time was up. If your chores weren't completed, well, it was your ass. I'd hear that sound and scramble. Ryan would sit cooly and calmly with a smirk on his face knowing he'd already done his.  Asking for his assistance at this point would simply be met with a, "Tough noogies, kid." One day in particular I was avoiding chores, as per usual. I was splayed out on the floor with my t.v. tray, engrossed in a riveting episode of "Fraggle Rock". Ryan was vacuuming and dared to ask me to get up off the floor so he could vacuum where I was laying. I said no and without warning, Ryan rolled the vacuum over my hair and sucked it up, clean to the scalp. I think this was a rare instance he immediately felt bad. I had to wait like that till mom got home and I had to be cut loose. Ryan didn't get in trouble much. Mostly, me. This time, I think mom asked him what would posses him to do such a thing. If I remember correctly he called me a turd and I think mom probably quietly agreed. I was no walk in the park, I admit it. I know this story made the rounds among his friends because they've mentioned it to me laughing in my adult years and saying, "Now, tell me your version of the vacuum story". Clearly, he didn't feel badly enough for the story to lose it's humor. It's a classic.

The time I blacked his eye with a lemon…

Most of our fights centered around chores. Ryan was doing laundry and yelling at me that I hadn't done my fair share of the work. Mom was making real lemonade and had lemons all over the counter near her cutting board. Ryan was standing in front of the washer and he'd been having a go at me for a pretty good while. He was just yelling at me and yelling at me and I finally snapped, grabbed one of those lemons, turned around, and chucked it clear across the kitchen and through to the laundry room. That lemon couldn't have clocked him square in the eye again if I was a trained, lemon-chucking professional. It was a money shot. He had a shirt in his hands which he immediately dropped and grabbed his eye. My mom runs to Ryan and asked what would posses me to do such a thing. If memory serves, Ryan told her I was turd and she probably quietly agreed. I was around later when a friend of his asked him where he got the shiner. He side-eyed me and said, "Oh ya know… My sister beaned me with a lemon". I think I was told I was a turd but it was still a nice shot.

The time Ryan's pyro phase got out of control and he blamed me and got away with it…

Like all little boys, Ryan developed an unhealthy obsession with fire. He frequently lit small pieces of paper and let them burn down in dad's ashtray by his recliner and he would watch in awe as it would burn down to ashy remnants. A particular occasion Ryan had burned a bunch of matches and various other things and left them at the opening to the basement below the house. Mom found them and went to Ryan first. He looked her dead in the face and blamed me. I took my licks like a champ and went to my monkey swing to sniffle and think bad thoughts about mom AND Ryan. Ryan came out of the house and approached me slowly. He had the nerve to pat my head and say, "I'm sorry, sis. I just didn't want to get in trouble." I said, "Oh like YOU would EVER get in trouble!" Then I told him he was a turd and went back to swinging.

Mom, Ryan, and I were like our own little gang. At the end of the day, we had each other. It was rare but we are family and disagreements arise. When one was mad at the other, sides would get taken. Mom and Ryan once made me so mad about something but I was really young and couldn't spell yet. I remember I felt like they were ganging up on me and the madder I got, the funnier they thought it was. I was fuming. I went to my little pink, frilly room with the white whicker furniture and slammed the door. I filled Easter baskets with all the things that mattered -- my Miss Piggy and my Cabbage Patch Kids. Who needs clothes when you're a rebel? I'll be like Annie -- dirty and street smart. I wrote a note about my plans to leave and stuck it on the outside of my door. That'll show 'em! I could hear mom and Ryan standing outside my door laughing at what I'd written. I was LIVID!!!! Apparently, what I thought I had written wasn't so beautifully conveyed. It went something like… "I hate me mudder. I hate me brudder. Lick navy." I'm not sure what I was trying to get across but it didn't compute. They laughed and laughed.

………………………..Turds.

The last physical brawl…

Ryan and I grew into what I would consider classy adults but deep down we were both scrappy. We were no stranger to physical fights with each other. Ryan didn't take it easy on me because I was a girl when things got heated. He would come at me like a boy and it was sink or swim. I could always hold my own with Ryan right up until his freshman year in college. I was dating a boy Ryan couldn't stand. I was going through a bad boy stage and Ryan highly disapproved. He was home from college for the weekend and a fight broke out about the boyfriend. Ryan came at me and we started wrestling around in the living room. Mom, being no stranger to this, just moved things around us and stepped up to the upper level away from the sunken living room and let us duke it out. I remember her standing there, arms folded, dish towel in hand, disgusted look on face. There was just no other way for her to handle it. I wouldn't have recommended getting in the middle of it. We were heathens. I ripped Ryan's shirt clean off his body. Not over his head, through his body. I ripped it clean in half across his back. We landed on the coffee table, breaking it. As Ryan began getting the better of me, I remember thinking, "God, he's really grown into a man!" I had the strong desire to raise the white flag and scream, "TIME OUT!" I think mom finally broke it up and sent us to separate ends of the house to cool off. I later came to Ryan crying, told him I was sorry, we hugged, and knew no fight between us was ever the last word. 

When Ryan started college, we went through a weird period of trying to adjust to him leaving our little town and believe me, he left skid marks getting out of there. Our area growing up wasn't accepting and extremely judgmental. I didn't blame him a bit for wanting out. I wished he had taken me with him. He swears he remembers his coming out story to me. I don't remember it that well because it wasn't an issue. He claims I was digging in my closet, (yes in the closet), for something and he said, "Hey Mist, I'm going to the store and by the way -- I'm gay." He said I leaned out of the closet and said, "Get me a coke and DUH". Despite being different from what's considered normal in our small little town, Ryan was already somewhat of a legend. His talent was too much to ignore even by the most conservative standards. He took the local school plays and turned them into award-winning dramas. He wasn't always understood where we grew up but he was still fascinating to everyone because he was an effing star. His talents and good looks made everyone keenly aware he was someone, going somewhere whether you understood him or not. As he aged and spread his wings, the world began to notice even more what a special gift he was. It was proven to me that I wasn't just a little sister with a biased perspective of how awesome her big brother was. The world saw it, too, and I had to share my rock star with the world. A part of me always resented it just a little bit. He wasn't mine, alone. I had to share him. Though, being Ryan's little sister wasn't always easy. In fact, my name was, "You're Ryan's little sister, aren't you?", for most of my adolescence. My whole life I struggled to be as funny, quick-witted, talented, and as smart as Ryan. But alas, there can only be one Ryan and believe me, the world knew it. I would whine to him about my legacy of not being him, but he would joke that I was the Janet to his Michael. I would joke back that I was more like the Ashlee to his Jessica. 

Ryan was a fierce protector of me and it never wavered even as we aged. There was an incident on an outing in Dallas where a guy touched me inappropriately and Ryan went ape. There was a masculine side there and it wasn't shy to make an appearance. You couldn't touch me when my brother was there. I felt safe with him. He would never let anyone hurt me. We fought each other's battles many times. When Ryan was treated like crap from jocks in school, I would wonder how hard it would be to kick a teenage boy's ass while i was in grade school. I thought I could take 'em and tried a few times. Mom said when I got my first shots as a kid that I took it like a champ but Ryan cried. Ryan and I shared a connection that we hurt more for the other's pain. He hurt, I hurt and vice versa.

Ryan continued to grow, as did our relationship. We developed a beautiful friendship but he always parented me. I would not be who I am without Ryan; not even a little bit. Our bond was unbreakable and we relied on each other through everything. We NEVER told one another how to live the other's life. We listened, we supported, and lived by the philosophy that if you're happy, I'm happy. My job was to pick him up when he fell and applaud his triumphs. I was so proud of him in everything he did. I sat in awe, like everyone else at every performance. I would sit with him on FaceTime while he beat his face, showed me new outfits, and went over routines. I had to watch via video when I couldn't be there but I was there in spirit for everything. I would stay up to help him find audio snippets for his acts. He'd never use anything I suggested but whateves. I once thought an excerpt from "Soap Dish" I'd collected had pleased him but no cigar. Ryan could never do anything or be anyone I wasn't proud of. He could never disappoint me and I would never not love every part of him. He is a part of me and I was lucky to be his little sister.

Ryan gave me life skills that have served me to the fullest in my 34 years. He taught me to always walk with my head held high. He taught me to never suffer a fool. He taught me to get ahead by being smarter, quicker, and to make them too intimidated to even think about firing the first shot. Be fearless. Be independent. Be fierce and never apologize for being just a little bit too much. Be tough and never let 'em see you sweat. Suck it up and power through. He taught me to never compromise my beliefs or who I am to pacify others. Always fight for what I believe in and stand up for those I love. Life your life as you see fit -- opinions will vary. Let 'em talk and make them eat their hearts out. 

I can never do this blog justice on what Ryan meant to me. He meant everything. He was everything wrapped into one complicated, beautiful, talented, artistic soul. His pretty, flirty eyes, wicked grin, enviable and limitless talents were something the world has lost. He was good at everything he did and that was a lot. He was a son, a brother, a friend, an uncle, a comedian, an actor, a performer, a vocalist, a musician -- he was everything. The world will miss out on who he was and who he was going to be. I didn't lose him, alone. Everyone who knew him will suffer for a long time. This loss is beyond words to everyone. The world lost its sparkle. Its darker, its less funny, it has less spirit. I still hear his voice and his laughter. I still feel his energy. I hope wherever he is, he is at peace and performing on a big stage somewhere making them eat it. I will cling to the memories and laugh at our inside jokes. I will never doubt if he knew how much I loved him. He absolutely knew. Ryan's plate was never empty if mine was full. What was mine was his and he knew that. Our last words were "I love you" and I'm so grateful for that. I love you a bushel and peck and hug around the neck, Rynoceros.  Always and forever. Until we meet again I will carry your memory. I will never let it go. So to the question, "You're Ryan's little sister, aren't you?", I proudly say YES. Yes I am.